Tommy Wiggins
Mid-Michigan Word Gatherers
February 3, 2011
James Gregory Maynard
This piece is written to two prompts. A stream of conscientiousness sort of thing, and, feeling
good about the beginning of this story I wanted young Tommy Wiggins to go farther. The
prompts: Father was a decent man who seemed to fail at everything he tried; and, He saw
nothing very clearly that year but he did see this.
Tommy Wiggins
When the elderly gentleman stepped down from the old tattered crate, Alfred Wiggins, next
in the queue, stepped up onto it. He began to wax eloquently about the need for social reform
and the role that Parliament should exercise in correcting social injustices. Most of the
Speaker’s Corner audience listened politely. A few jeered at Alfred’s assertions.
----
Tommy walked through the black wrought iron gate of Hyde Park on his way to the academy.
Looking at the crowd gathered, he spotted his father’s grand gestures flailing above the heads
of the crowd. He bowed his head and slinked past the crowd thinking, Mum’s going to kill im.
----
Tommy was met by John Philip Sousa’s, ‘El Capitan’, when he opened the entrance door to
his family’s second floor flat. The thunderous melody rolled in waves from the living room
down the hallway. He poked his head into the living room, then, walked in to see his father at
his desk surrounded by books. “Why aren’t ya at work, pops?”
“Aye, the bloody commercial sharks. All they want is your blood, son, just your blood.”
Tommy nodded as if he actually understood. “What are ya doing now, pops?
“Preparing for tomorrow’s speech.”
“You know pops, mum’s going to fry you when she gets home, don’t ya?”
“Tommy, your mum doesn’t understand my work. She’s a good woman, Tommy, but she just
doesn’t understand.”
----
Tommy loved his father. His father was not a pub crawler or sports fan, with such passions
dragging a father out of the house nightly. In fact, because of his father’s inability to keep a job
he seemed to always be at home when Tommy returned home from school.
He knew his father loved him and had always encouraged Tommy to follow his passions, to
‘Find work that you love to do and want to do well.’
Tommy had never quite understood then why his father had not been able to find work that
he loved, that paid the bills, so that his mother would not have to work two jobs to support the
family. His father’s jobs had been menial and rote, of little stature, of little influence, and with
little pay. When he came home from these jobs he seemed depressed, worn, with no light in
his eyes, a stark contrast to those days when he returned from Hyde Park. Then, his step
bounced, his head was held high, and there was fire in his eyes – the fire of passion.
Tommy understood, but then, he didn’t.
----
Tommy asked, “What doesn’t mum understand pops?” He was unwilling to let the subject
die as he usually had.
“A man has to follow his passions, son. Your passions are like sunlight is to a plant, son. The
grape will die on the vine without sunlight. The same goes for a man, Tommy. A man will
shrivel up and die a living death without his passions.”
“So, pops, what are mum’s passions? To work two jobs, then, come home and clean your
clothes, and then cook your meals?”
Alfred felt the slice of the questions sharp edge and was stunned by Tommy’s
assertiveness. “I don’t know son. She never said.”
“Did ya ever ask her pops? Did ya?”
“No, I didn’t, son.”
“Do you think she might have some, pops?”
“Aye, she might, Tommy. She’s a good woman, Tommy. Thank you, Tommy”
Alfred watched as Tommy nodded and left the room. Then he murmured, “Thank you,
Tommy.”